Nine Lives
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: "I'm going to be blunt here - that is the ugliest cat I have ever had the misfortune to look at, Britta." Jeff comes across one of Britta's pets; he is not amused. JeffBritta, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Community._

_**Summary: "I'm going to be blunt here - that is the ugliest cat I have ever had the misfortune to look at, Britta." Jeff comes across one of Britta's pets; he is not amused. JeffBritta, oneshot**_

_Okay, this fic is based on my love for Community (and JeffBritta, of course) and my current desire to own a Sphynx cat. Yes. A Sphynx cat. Normally, I'm a dog person, but yeah. Look these suckers up. They're epic. Anyway, lol. So, yeah hope y'all enjoy this little fic of mine! This is probably set during season one or so, just because._

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**Nine Lives**

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Out of the many places Jeff Winger has been, he has never been here.

That sentence in itself could conjure up the images of many places. Like, a _real_ college. Or Amsterdam. Or scuba diving. But at this moment, that statement was directed at one particular thing, one thing that he felt was really, pretty amazing because simply, Jeff had thought at one point he had more of a chance to go to a _real _college _in _Amsterdam to _major _in scuba diving than being _here_.

In Britta Perry's apartment.

Or loft.

Or whatever hippy word she was using lately to describe her living quarters.

Jeff decided to abandon that train of thought. If he spent his whole time here dogging on the synonym she used to refer to her apartment, he would probably miss something. Something important. Like maybe she would come out in her underwear.

A shit-eating grin crossed Jeff's face.

He actually wasn't sure why he was here in the first place. The whole thing slipped his mind when he was confronted with her apartment. It was just so…_stereotypical_. The bean bag chairs and the wicker furniture. The odd, indie-kid color scheme. The whole thing made his smile grow wider.

He looked around the apartment, spotted an old television in the corner of the living room, nestled on an equally old television stand. Something funny that caught his eye would be the satellite box sitting on the shelf beneath the television. So much for the vintage approach to things.

He leaned back on his heels, waiting for her to emerge from her room. She wouldn't let him near there, of course. From the looks of the rest of her apartment, it was probably a pigsty as well. Not that there was a problem with that. He always imagined her as one of those messy, surfer chicks who didn't care if her bra was hanging on a lampshade.

Jeff shoved his hands in his pockets, remembering the course of events that had led them here. They were headed out to eat with the rest of the group when a series of clumsy events - initiated by a randomly placed Starburns - landed a slushie clearly in Britta's lap, staining the crotch of her khaki pants a gaudy blue.

After all the Smurf jokes had been made, Jeff had offered to drive Britta to her apartment to retrieve a new, non-Smurfy pants.

And, well, here he is.

He walked over to the couch and decided to sit down. This looked like it was going to take a while. If the rest of her apartment is any indication, Britta's room must have all the clothes scattered in random piles on the floor and she would now be digging through each like she was some kind of ridiculous archeologist.

Jeff sighed and picked absently at a stray thread on a throw on the couch. He didn't pay attention to much that was going around until a sound broke the silence.

The sound was oddly reminiscent of a cat. At first, he thought that Britta was playing some kind of odd game, but then the sound came again. And he knew that Britta wasn't _that _good at mimicking others voices.

Jeff turned his head around in search for a sound when, out of nowhere, something rubbed against his calf.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, jumping slightly in his seat.

He curled his legs up on the couch before choosing to peer down where the offending object was, and then was shocked when a pair of large, luminous, green eyes stared up at him. They were distinctly catlike in nature, but when he looked at the rest of the body…

Oh, yeah, that was definitely alien.

"What the…_hell _are you?" he asked, partly enraptured and partly morbidly interested.

He was expecting the…the…_cat? _to jump up and claw his eyes out. It certainly looked as if capable of playing that part. Jeff studied it warily, his hands clasped around his knees as he peered down in a very awkward position. The cat was pink in color, and devoid of any hair. There were slight wrinkles adorning its body. The cat stared up at him with something akin to curiosity - or a murderous rage, Jeff couldn't tell - and placed a nude paw on the couch next to his knee.

"Erm," he began. "I'm Jeff. And I would like you to not murder me, Overlord of Darkness."

He got a meow in response.

The cat looked at him for a moment before sticking its head up into Jeff's petting range. Jeff grimaced before reaching his hand down and stroking the cat's head. The cat purred and pushed its head further into Jeff's hand, which only caused him to wince more. Seeming to know that it was bothering him, the cat looked up at him with his large eyes and emitted the most pathetic little mewl…

"Jeff!"

Jeff started yet again, yanking his hand away from the cat as if the feline itself had said his name. He turned to look over the back of the couch and saw that Britta was staring at him with something like amusement. He turned back to see that the cat was gone. The last image he had of the cat was its tail, looking whip like, as it disappeared around the corner.

"Oh, hey, Jabba!" Britta crooned as she bent over to pick up the cat - Jabba, he supposed - and nuzzled her face against him. Or he thought it was a him. No way for Jeff to tell.

"_Jabba_?" Jeff asked dryly.

Britta looked at him innocently, the love for her cat blatant on her face, washing away any jadedness she might have displayed before. "Yeah. Like Jabba the Hut. Star Wars."

Jeff blinked.

"It looks unholy."

Britta looked genuinely insulted. She put her hands over the cat's massive, naked ears and said, "Shh! Don't say that!"

Jeff rolled his eyes and looked at the cat in her arms, who looked like he was going to suck his soul out through his nose.

"Geez," Jeff said. "Do you at least have on pants that have not seen the wrath of a slushie?"

Britta wrinkled her nose at him and said, "As a matter of fact, I do."

"Then let's go, before Satan's cat decides he wants to go all Antichrist on my face."

"You're an ass," she replied stonily. "Jabba wouldn't hurt a fly."

"That's what they all say."

Britta glared at him, but Jeff couldn't help himself.

"I'm going to be blunt here - that is the ugliest cat I have ever had the misfortune to look at, Britta."

The blonde looked at him for a moment, her face as impassive and cold as a frozen lake, and then left to head to where he thought the kitchen would be. Jeff watched her go, and felt a strange sense of relief as she took Jabba the Soul Stealing Cat with her.

"Britta, what are you doing?" he called.

No answer.

Well, he supposed it was like Jurassic Park. You nursed something from birth and then when you thought the two of you were friends or whatever, the creature bit your face off. In a vicious and brutal manner.

The silence was the only thing that greeted Jeff's ears.

That is, until something cold and wet and awful splashed into his lap.

He squeaked like the man he was and jumped up, flailing about and doing something akin to the Macarena in an attempt to dry himself off. But the damage had been done. The green stain was now spreading across his pants like wildfire.

"Amazing what a couple melted popsicles can do, huh?"

Jeff stared.

Britta smirked at him, her obscene pet dangling from her arms. "You thought the Smurf jokes were bad when they were referenced to me. I bet ya there is going to be several Shrek, Hulk, and venereal disease jokes in your future."

Jeff groaned, sounding somewhat like a child. "_Why_?"

Britta tilted her head in a faux haughty manner. "You made fun of my cat."

As she walked away, depositing Jabba in some kind of contraption of a kitty house, Jeff thought of several dirty jokes that could be said in response to that statement.

He ignored them all, however.

Said cat looked to be quite deadly, and Britta Perry was definitely no better.

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_**End.**_


End file.
